


Co-dominium

by Charles_Rockafellor



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Adrift, Ambivalence, Limbo, Other, Perdition, Rebirth, connection, ennui, тоска
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Rockafellor/pseuds/Charles_Rockafellor
Summary: Just as Dido is said to have found her place once more with Acerbas, Pygmalion herein finds some bitter peace with his Galéne.𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆! ❤️
Relationships: Galatea the Statue/Pygmalion (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Icewall, Love and romance





	Co-dominium

**Author's Note:**

> Removing the diacritics from the names won't change any important meaning to the story; they're there only as a pronunciation guide for those who use tonality. For the curious, I normally point people to the IPA ([International Phonetic Alphabet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Phonetic_Alphabet#Letters)), but in this case, you might prefer simply the [IPA specifics for Greek](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA/Greek#Letters) (and I should mention that I used the [macron](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macron_\(diacritic\)) in its standard Greek usage, rather than the IPA's).

Pugmalíōn Ἀgamémnōs awoke on an empty beach, castaway. His recollection muddied, it took him some time to gather his wits; exploring thereupon in hopes of finding the inhabitants, he soon determined himself the only soul. Although deserted, the island wasn't without resources, and in short order he had acquired a tool set sufficient for most needs, but was unsure as to the best direction in which to cast his efforts.

Eventually, he settled upon a plan, pro tem.

Not knowing his location nor the paths of the local wind and water currents, and indeed the very waters and skies themselves seeming hazy, with only the island seeming to have any truly firm essence, he settled in for the duration, at least until such time as fortune might favor other plans.

It was a pleasantly freeing experience, and for a time things were good. Empty, but good.

How long he'd been on the island was uncertain – at times it could have been mere weeks, at others many a decade – but over time, that same emptiness grew until it impinged on his awareness, turning and returning. The only sound to be heard was the wind, the waves, some animal calls. This wasn't a great burden, only an occasional background twinge of the moment.

His mind and hands idle, he imagined a different life; many a one, in point of fact. Rich man, poor man, beggar, thief. The particulars of one's birth, the vagueries of chance, the options presented and choices made; the many paths that one's life might take. The loves that one might find. He'd studied Leonardo, and something about the island energized him, a muse inspiring some vital spark within to seek outlet: a clockwork abacus, its movement derived through simple hydraulic pressure. No life within; a mere surrogate, but a pleasant illusion nonetheless. Though it was only whimsy, he could see how some of it could be brought about; to think, to dream, to make manifest.

While hardly set in stone, ideation can often enough lead to reification, and so it was that he set about to make real this ambition. He held no specific plans as such, only an eye toward engaging in a pleasing hobby, and indeed his efforts bore fruit, though initially lacking any great finesse, the form taking substance without particulars in mind.

Being only a construct, its embrace was cold, and so he dressed its surface first with cotton between layers of suede to lend it a degree of suppleness and a certain cushion of yielding resistance, and then an outer layer of the softest snakeskin for verisimilitude. With great attention to detail, it became finely wrought, at first a simple sketch of a woman made real, then honed in reflection of his own likes, and at last a vision in her own right. Over time, he tinkered with new ideas, new modifications, more-minuscule ὀreíchalkon parts of ever-greater precision and flexibility of purpose, and she became increasingly realistic in her interactions; one of his favorite accomplishments was the grasshopper escapement, obviating further replacements for some time to come, and mounting the same within a tourbillon – though he admitted that the limited slip differential and continuously variable transmission were probably the most practical applications to her inner workings, with the possible exception of the gyroscopic balance.

This pastime brought him some measure of peace while yet also a sureness that he couldn't bring himself to leave his creation complete, nor ignore her allure moreover, and so naming her Galánḗīas Múrrālissô, he then gave her voice, mercurial in her laugh; he gave her complex algorithms of behavior, an artifice as much given to her own moods and playful fancies as any living person might be.

They grew close, wandering the hills and admiring the scenery, swimming in lagoons, enjoying the bounty of the land, talking of whatever came to mind. Foamed resin layers permitted her the luxury of flotation, and in so doing she surprised him with her affinity for brooks, seeming to call forth fish of every kind by her very presence.

Showing no fault at all beyond endearing hesitations or uncertainties, her light-spirited nature became partly real in his mind and partly a bitter reminder of its underlying truth. An obsession with a grip on both his need for her companionship and his wishes to the contrary, he could neither fully enjoy their time together nor stay apart for long. Her conversation was intoxicating, her sensuality comforting, her acceptance a balm; in every instance, he felt it wrong to use her so, while yet aware that there was no awareness within her in turn. Was it then only a matter of his own hunger for human contact, or instead a base carnality clothed so? Was it simply human foible, without further issue, and even then mitigated by circumstance? Were she whole unto herself, would she then tolerate his attentions?

So went things thereafter, Heaven and Hell made flesh in one, holding co-dominium with him over this his island perdition.

_Kýrie, eléēsón..._

**O ~~~ O**


End file.
